Grub Trading
by Circus Meister
Summary: Alternian society has no instinct to nurture their young, leading to their ease with the grub trade. Grubs are culled, bought and sold to make paint and grubsauce without a second thought. AU where - Karkat is a grub trader working for a future - Kanaya is a jade blood who culls to survive- Feferi is an activist who wants it all to stop-


**Hey guys! So this is a:**

" _ **Where-everything-is-totally-different-but-sorta-the-same-but-I'm-hoping-all- the-characters-are-still-in-character"**_ **AU.**

 **You know the type.**

 **Basically, SGRUB never happened and I'm kinda putting characters in places I need them to be for this story to happen because I just wanted to play around with this concept and the world of Alternia. I think it'll be okay though. It should make sense cuz, other than the entire premise, I'm not deviating too far from general canon :)** _ **Anyways**_ **, this is a DARK fic. If you are off put by the idea of killing/eating/selling babies… congratulations on having a soul? IDK man, it's canon so I'm just gonna roll with it.**

 **Tally ho!~**

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 **== Be grub-trader Karkat!**

You be a grub-trader named Karkat Vantas who is currently bumping down the dusty path that connects The City to the brooding caverns in a hoofbeast-drawn trading cart. The moon is full tonight and it makes everything around you cast inky black shadows that seem to grab at your wheels as you pass. You have a light emitter burning brightly on either side of you but you still feel uneasy. In fact, it would be dumb of you not to! "Outside The City" is really just code for the uninhabitable barrenness that surrounds Alternia's biggest (and only) city. You laugh nervously to yourself and check around you for movement or other signs of life. This is where they send people who say the stuff that you just thought. If they don't kill them on sight that is. This barren waste is full of thieves, cutthroats and exiles, not to mention wild beasts and the like, all living in caves and trying to scrape together enough food to survive another night.

The Condesce, in her infinite wisdom, had once upon a time conquered all of Alternia and decided it would be easier for her if, instead of countries or whatever, they could just make the entire planet a city. With transportalizer technology, spanning oceans and connecting populations was easy, so it worked. Well, it _happened_. Whether or not this was actually a good method of governance was up for debate. Internally. Where no one could ever hear you doubt Her Imperial Condescension's wisdom. Better yet, don't. It's perfect and you wouldn't want it any other way.

You shiver as a cool wind blows through your thick black sweater. The actual "doing your job" part of grub-trading is the worst part. It takes you three days of cart driving to get to the brooding caverns because the nookstains who run the damn place don't allow transportalizers in or near the caverns. Something about "toxic levels of radiation" or some shit they don't want around the Mothergrub. You don't know what they're talking about. You've been using transportalizers all your life and you don't have a single *radiation related* problem. Maybe it's something about her laying all those eggs all the time or maybe they just want to make it difficult for people like you to do their job. It's probably the last thing. You have no doubt they all _you_ specifically.

Unfortunately, grub-trading is one of the only jobs that hire from anywhere on the hemospectrum, not that your bloodpusher wouldn't have an epileptic fit out of sheer shock if you ever met a highblood willing to grace you with their presence as a co-worker, so you have to suffer. You were lucky enough to land this shit job by telling the guy you work for that you were a regular rust blood, because when you say "anywhere" on the hemospectrum, mutants are, naturally, not included. Technically you don't have a place on the hemospectrum. Anyway, you need this job. Your lusus isn't getting any younger and, while most trolls never have to worry about outliving their lusus, Crabdad has barely had any fight left in him recently. Last night, when you had refused to go to sleep, instead of hitting you over the head with his claw and dragging you to your recuperacoon, he just patted you on the back and said that you were old enough to make your own decisions. Sure, you were eight sweeps old and had a pretty lucrative grub-trade going on but Crabdad wasn't supposed to acknowledge that! He was supposed to violently treat you like a wiggler like he always did! So yeah. You gotta start planning for your future, save up for threshecutioner training. Once you get accepted, that is.

You violently gag at the thought of your newfound responsibility and self-sufficiency, and lean your head over the side of the cart to dry heave into the night. Sure, you're super amazing and being an abundantly responsible born leader is basically your jam, but only when _you_ want it. It's a whole different story when it's thrust upon you. Then it's not even fun.

You continue to dry heave your way down the road until, suddenly your hoofbeast rears up and whinnies in panic. Its movement tips the cart onto its right wheels and throws you off into the dark ditch beside the road. You hit the rocky ground with a soft "oof" but one of your hands lands in something warm and slimy. Your eyes widen in fear and you pull your hand in close as you jump out of the ditch, definitely not shrieking like a little girl. Nope. Nope nope. Nopenopenopenopenopenope. Do not want to be there.

You get back on the road and calm the hoofbeast, gently patting its snout and whispering to her. You've gotten pretty good with her over the six perigee span of your employment. She stays at your hive and you take good care of her, even shooing away a certain hoofbeast obsessed b100b100d on several occasions. He probably just wanted to look at her, but you don't really trust him around anything with hooves. Once she's calm, you whip around to the other side of the cart to find out what the problem was.

There's another cart on the road. It flipped during the encounter and its own cargo is scattered everywhere, spilling piles of blood and wiggler onto the road. Must be another grub-trader. A veritable rainbow seeps out of the fallen crates and into the dirt. The smell of decay hits your nostrils violently. A brief glimpse at the mess and you realize this idiot must not be very good at their job because the grubs they picked were mostly useless. You consider yourself pretty damn good at what you do and you know when somebody is placing quantity over quality. A good number of the grubs on the grounds are defective, missing legs, heads, eyes or just plain messed up. One looks like it only half developed before hatching and one end is shrivelled up and dead, hanging uselessly off a malformed head with only one large empty eye staring out into the night. Others are just worse for wear due to the stranger's amature over-stuffing of the crates. They got "damaged during transport" as you say in the biz. The "biz" being code for regular speech because that's a pretty fucking literal description of what happened. Most of the grubs' blood is being squeezed out of them before they can even be sold. What does this bulge-for-brains think they're selling? What do they think paint is made of? Or grubsauce? The actual grub is literally just the container for the real product.

The bulge-sucker is frantically stuffing grubs back in boxes and you vaguely wonder if you should help. It's gonna be practically impossible for a single troll to right that cart. You immediately decide against it though because it's not your problem some idiot came speeding down the road with no light and nearly killed the both of you. You relight your light emitters and with a snap of the reins, your hoofbeast marches on into the darkness.

When you finally reach the brooding caves, you suddenly kinda wish you were back on the road. The harrowing mouth of the cave is high and stalactites and stalagmites jut up and down like teeth, promising to snap shut behind you once you foolishly decide to enter. Like a carnivorous trap-plant. Memories of your trials run through your head every time you come here. The screaming and the bleeding and the pure, indescribable feeling of coming out of your cocoon for the first time, only to find yourself still encased in darkness and gagging on the scent of blood. You shudder and tell yourself to get a grip. The trials are done and your fear is therefore invalid and illogical. You slap yourself in the face to try and get your thinkpan back in the proverbial game. Good. You are sure that bottling up your trauma is not only healthy, but also the only real way to deal with emotions.

You gather up your crates on a smaller four-wheel device that you pull yourself, and make your way into the caverns. The first time you came down here for work, you were lost for nearly two days before you found the jade bloods' little hideaway. It was a beacon of light in the cutting through the veil of darkness that shrouded the caverns and was only possible in a place that had never seen the sun. The jade bloods' hive is lit by thousands of light emitters. Generators power great, electric chandeliers made of old Mothergrub bones and enormous carvings of the Mothergrub decorate the walls of the cave, telling the story of the slurry-less laying of the _first brood_. You personally don't really believe that wiggler tripe, but were impressed by the carvings anyway. Or you would have been if you hadn't been pretty much dead by then and suddenly realized you didn't really know how to go about getting grubs in the first place. (Your employers didn't really find it necessary to give you orientation other than "go that way and pick some good ones" then hand you 500 boondollars, a hoofbeast and a cart. They were just lucky you were able to have Tavros commune with that hoofbeast for you otherwise you really didn't know how this was going to work. It really just seems like a piss-poor business model to you. But whatever. You get 45% of the sales, so you're not complaining.) That's how you met Kanaya.

She's one of the jade bloods who cares for the Mothergrub. Or, at least, she will when she's older. Right now she oversees the culling. She felt pretty bad that you had almost died looking for their cave so she drew you a map of the caverns and gave you food and water. The map was a little useless once you were back in the cave, what with it being pitch black and all, but you'd memorized it enough to find your way out within two hours. Nowadays, you have the trip down to a fifteen minute walk which make you pretty pissed about your first trip in hindsight. They should really put a sign on the entrance or something.

Once you reach the jade bloods' cavern, you tug your cart down a tunnel off to the left of the main cavern that leads to the cavern that serves as a sort of grub supermarket. It's pretty big too, but not nearly as grand as the main cavern. It's filled with culled grubs sorted into different piles by blood colour. The smell of decay is almost overpowering. You really aren't sure how Kanaya deals with it. Speaking of whom...

"KANAYA!" you yell, "I'M HERE!" It turns out that she was actually standing next to you sorting through grubs. As you shout, she gives a startled little yelp and accidentally steps back onto your foot with her remarkably sharp heels.

"SHITFUCK!" You hop around and cradle your impaled foot in your hands. How does she work in those shoes?

"Oh! Terribly sorry about that Karkat," she says mildly, not sounding all that sorry about it to be honest, "but you really shouldn't be sneaking around." You ignore the fact that you hadn't been doing anything of the sort and in fact are surprised that walking around with a giant rattling four wheel device trailing behind you could ever be construed as sneaking.

"Yeah, whatever. Can we get going already? You know how much I hate being down here."

"Of course, have at it." Kanaya steps aside and you approach the violet-blood pile first, grunting a small laugh at the "FUCHSIA" label hanging over a non-existent pile. Fuchsia bloods are hatched like, once every fifty sweeps or something and it's not like they're getting culled anytime soon. If you _did_ manage to get your hand on one though, you'd probably be set for at least a perigee on that grub alone.

You dig through the tiny pile of violet blooded grubs. You always think it's pretty weird that they already have their stupid little fin ears when they're grubs even though there's no way they'll get near any kind of water in these caves. Do they have gills too? You aren't really sure how to check. You sigh as you realize most of these ones are defective. Their damaged carapaces leak onto your hand, staining it violet. You make a face and decide on six of the best looking grubs, they're not great though. Lots of grubs get culled randomly so usually it's not uncommon to find them in perfect condition, other than being dead that is, but these ones are pretty far from it. Must be a tough time for violet-bloods this brood. You gingerly place your merchandise in one of the boxes, careful not to damage it (unlike _some_ people).

You continue this process down the hemospectrum, sifting, inspecting, choosing, rejecting. You make your way around the room, moving between the evenly-spaced piles that are pressed against the curved cave wall, forming a ring. As you walk, you watch the piles getting bigger and bigger and the grubs being in better and better shape. The lower the blood, the higher the hatch rate and, subsequently, the more grubs culled. But, for some reason, the piles seem to be generally smaller than usual. You eventually reach the door again, your four-wheel device heavy with dead grubs and your hands sticky with cold, congealing blood. You reach the last pile. "MUTANT" the sign reads. You cringe inwardly but keep your face straight. You can't let on that these grubs make you uncomfortable.

Unlike any other blood colour, _every_ mutant blood is culled. You have absolutely no idea how you slipped under the radar. Maybe being an extra-small grub had worked to your advantage and you had been passed over? The uncertainty makes you a little uneasy, but you've long since learned not to question. You're alive aren't you? That's already way more than you should've gotten, and you're going to make the most of it.

Despite this heap here representing the entirety of your blood caste from this brood, it is pretty small compared to the others. Comparable to the violet blood pile in size, but not quality. Every grub here looks painfully healthy, like they could be sleeping. There is almost no blood pooling around this pile because there seem to be few to no defective grubs here. Usually, there was a percentage of grubs who hatched and died, either missing chunks of themselves or being too weak to survive the strain. Some hatch fine, but for some reason refuse to eat any of the food the jade bloods put out for them and whither away. Others die in fights. The troll instinct for violence manifests young and it's pretty common to see grubs in the piles with pieces of flesh torn away by another grub's fangs or eyes gored by small horns. These weak ones also fall into the "defective" category. But as usual, the mutants are pristine because they've been culled the moment they were spotted. A quick, informal, snap of the neck and they're brought here. You touch your own neck and realize you've been staring too long. You clear your throat and glance over at Kanaya as subtly as you can. She's already gone back to sorting her own crate of freshly culled wigglers. Hopefully she didn't notice.

You lean down to rifle through the pile. You can get a good price for mutant bloods. They're pretty rare and their blood is really good for paint. Suddenly, thoughts of candy red splatter through your think pan and drip hotly down into your stomach and you can't focus. _They're just grubs. Little insect things, not even trolls when you think about it. They don't get to count until they pupate. Besides, you're just doing this for the money._ You keep your boondollars in mind as you pick up ten or so of the red grubs and place them in a crate. You need the money if you ever want to be a threshecutioner. If you ever want to make something of yourself and take the opportunity these things don't get.

As they flop around in your hands like ragdolls, stubby legs splaying at awkward angles, the grubs hardly seem like they ever could have been alive. You force a dark little smile onto your face and pretend you don't feel bad because sometimes, if you pretend hard enough, things become a little less fake. It comforts you to distance yourself from what you do. Usually it's no problem, but you sometimes slip up when it comes to the mutant pile. You suppose you're having an off day.

"Kanaya! I'm done!" you bark. Kanaya stands up again and walks over to you, looking a little annoyed at your tone. "Very well Karkat, We'll just weigh what you've got there and you can be on your way." You grunt and follow as she leads you to a little divet in the cave wall where a huge grubscale is nestled. It has a little screen embedded in the machine's organic carapace and a table just below on which to place crates of grubs. It pulses a little as you and Kanaya heave boxes onto it. You hope you estimated the weight correctly because you only have 413 boondollars on you and you want to get out of here as soon as possible. The last thing you want to do is go through the torture of sorting through the boxes to lighten the load. Luckily, it seems you've got enough money for once. The total weight flashes onto the screen on the grubscale and Kanaya tallies the price on the husktop beside the machine. The price per weight-unit goes up by hemocaste, but you budgeted yourself well. You've got fifteen extra boondollars and you decide to get one more grub because why the fuck not?

"Hey Kanaya, got any fresh ones?" you ask because, despite your sudden _why the fuck not_ decision, you don't actually want to paw through those piles again. Your hands are already crusty and stained with blood. The fresher ones haven't had time to rot yet so the undamaged ones won't be gross at all.

"Oh, of course, here," Kanaya walks away and returns with a very small, unsorted box of grubs in her arms. "What colour would you like?" You think for a moment and decide on mutant red because A: _they sell for good money and don't cost much_ and B: _you hate yourself and live to torment yourself with stupid things like that_. Kanaya hands you a mutant grub. It's pretty big for a mutant and you awkwardly take it from her. You curse the Karkat of fifteen seconds ago and can't believe you'd ever been dumb enough to let this happen. It's so freshly culled, you could almost swear it was still warm. It doesn't hang loose from your arms either, it sits frozen, curled into a ball, no doubt its last act after its felt its head twisted sharply, almost around. You shudder as the tiny _crack_ resonates around your imagination, echoing much for too long. Your stomach seems to boil with equal parts disgust and fear. Why did you just do this to yourself? You'd just gotten over your little mental breakdown and here you are, gifting a new one to yourself, wrapped in bad choices and topped with a little red self-loathing bow.

Whatever, you can suppress as much as you need to to make it out of here. You pay and shout a rushed goodbye to Kanaya as you walk out the door, dragging your four-wheel device as fast as you can. You soon exit the caverns and breathe in the fresh air as deeply, relishing the clean smell, then proceed to cough your lungs out. Soon you have your crates loaded and you climb up onto the cart. You can't wait to get home. Unfortunately, it's about a three day's journey back to The City and the nearest transportalizer. Whoever built the brooding caverns _really_ didn't want to be disturbed. You curse softly to yourself and snap the reins on your hoofbeast.

Your trip is entirely uneventful. In fact, it was painfully boring and on multiple occasions you considered clawing your own sight globes out, just for a change of scenery. The "countryside" is the flattest, most desolate, most _boring_ possible thing imaginable. There isn't so much as a bush to look at once you leave the small range of mesas where all the caves are, just a dark ditch that runs along the side of the road. Days and nights drag on as if time itself was melting under the unbearable Alternian sun. The caves weren't even that far but what made the trip so long was that they could really only travel by night because the days were too hot to keep moving. During the day, you and your hoofbeast take shelter in a fort made of wiggler crates. But somehow, eventually, you make it and transportalize your cargo home without incident.

Unfortunately for you, the terrible ennui is shattered when you go to inspect your cargo for damage when you get home. You open crate after crate and find that everything is in good shape. That is, until you get to the last one. You find it to be way lighter than it should be and you hurry to open the lid. The previously carefully filled crate was now half-empty and squirming on top of the remaining pile, was the big mutant blood he'd bought on a whim. It screamed at the sudden light and tried to crawls up the crate walls with its little nubby legs, tears streaming down its little face from its round, red eyes.

You slam the lid back down on the crate.

What the motherfucking bitchtits are you going to do?

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 **So yeah, that's it. I want to explore the grub-trade that is sort of alluded to by the fact that grubs are used as paint and, presumably, in grubsauce. I'm gonna write this from the perspective of three trolls who have different perspectives on it so we can see what it's like for different people. Chapter-the-next is with Kanaya!**

 **Is anyone interested in reading this? Let me know in the comments if you are or have any suggestions cuz it's probably gonna be long so I don't wanna pump out updates if no one cares. Otherwise, I'm probably gonna let myself be distracted with other stuff.**


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